Eyes
by Jinubean
Summary: Woody is removed from homicide for one reason, to protect Emma Duncan, a newcomer to Boston. How will Jordan feel when certain events lead to romance? :Post Season 5 premiere:rating changed due to graphic nature:FINISHED
1. I

**I**

"The plane will be landing at Logan International Airport in approximately fifteen minutes. We advise that you gather your belongings and prepare to leave the aircraft. If you need any assistance, my name is Cheryl. Dave and Amber are at the rear of the aircraft and you may ask us for any help you may need. We trust you had a pleasant flight we hope to see you fly with us again. Thank you and good evening."

Emma joined a congregated sigh with the rest of the passengers aboard Air Canada flight 291. It had been a long journey from Vancouver to Boston with a nearly six-hour layover in Toronto for maintenance. She was relieved it was almost over and eagerly began packing her possessions. She noticed all of the vacationers and almost wished this trip were a vacation, she had heard wonderful things about Boston, but had never been there herself until now.

After gathering her baggage she lined up outside in a queue waiting to hail for a taxi. It took a long while but she finally managed to snag a yellow cab before a man with mousey brown, flyaway hair and bright blue eyes. He glared at her before stalking off to find another taxi. Emma noticed that his eyes followed her as her taxi drove away. Immediately she knew she was in trouble, but decided not to let him bother her.

"Your hotel isn't far from here," The turban clad driver told her, "It's just downtown, on Devonshire Street."

Emma nodded, "If you could get there as quickly as possible, that would be a plus." She was tired and wanted to catch up on some sleep before she had to attend to business in the following days.

He pulled up outside her new home for the week, The Club Quarters. She took a breath. It looked expensive for her taste but she was not going to complain because her future company was paying for it. As well, this location was convenient for her because the business she needed to take care of was only a short taxi drive away.

The bellhop helped remove her luggage from the taxi while she paid the driver. She checked in and he led her up to her room.

Finally, she was alone; she began making herself comfortable by changing her clothes and preparing for bed. She was so tired she contemplated whether to brush her teeth for fear of falling asleep at the bathroom counter. She laughed at the thought and went to do it anyway. She turned her back for a second and there was a click, as if the door was opening. She went back out into the room but nothing was amiss. She shrugged blaming her imagination for playing tricks on her and resumed brushing her teeth. However, as she wiped her face she thought that she saw a dark figure slip past the slightly open door.

Meekly she called, "Hello?" She shook her head and foolishly thought that if there happened to be a stranger in the room why would he answer her when she asked who was there?

She opened the door with her foot. She could only see the opposing wall and the floor of the hallway. Only one of the bedside lamps were on and it cast a strange, formidable shadow against the wall. To her left would be the door and to her right would be the rest of the room. With no foreign sounds, she began to think that she was being irrational. She stepped out into the hallway facing the room with her back to the door and immediately took a step backward, just in case there _was_ somebody in the room she could get to the door faster. Relieved to find there was nobody within her view, she turned around and secured the door.

Turning once again, she found that she was dead wrong and before she could scream or do anything to defend herself, a muscular man was upon her forcing white pills down her throat. She struggled weakly but within minutes, she was nearly comatose and the man in black was leading her out the window of her room on the tenth floor.

_AN: First chapter! R&R this is my first fic in a very long time. I am a little rusty, don't worry our favorite characters will be introduced soon!_


	2. II

**II**

If Emma were sober enough to guess, she would assume that an entire day had passed, since she was taken from her hotel room. However, there was no way she could know it. She lay in a dark room that smelled strongly of liquor and sex. She was frightened, but so doped up that she was almost passive about the situation. She slept most of the time, and when she was awake, she was dimly aware of the men who came and went; none of them touched her and she understood only one thing by her kidnapper's words; she was a trophy item, she was a display piece; the un-baitable fish, the worlds most difficult record to receive, the highest award. He had captured her.

The man who had taken Emma from her room came often with more of the sleep inducing pills; she tried but was powerless to stop him from shoving them down her throat. She was unsure of what his plans were.

She could not tell day from night as there were no windows in her room and the door opened up to a hallway bathed in flashing red light. She could hear a dull thumping as if from the beat of music or a bed slamming against a wall in the distance. Screams, cheers, maybe they were a hallucination too.

She contemplated dying there until she heard a different noise. The drugs were wearing off slightly and she was becoming more sensible. One, two, three gunshots accompanied by the demanding yell of men and the terrified screams and cries of women. The kidnapper came to her once more slipping a different pill down her throat, this time it was blue. His pills scared Emma more than any gun. They filled her with unfamiliar toxins that made Emma supremely uneasy. The blue one made her immobile. She had never heard of a drug like this one. After a few minutes, she found herself completely conscious and more aware of her surroundings than she had been since her kidnapping; the experience was heightening. However, she could not move, speak, or make any signal to show that she was alive. Her eyes open wide, her mouth clasped shut. The blood in her veins and the air in her lungs moved only enough to keep her alive.

He grinned flashing his sparkling teeth (one of them was gold), bent low and whispered in her ear. With her new clarity, she recognized her captor for the first time; he was the man whose taxi she took at Logan. However, somehow she had always known that. She made to gasp but could not, she wanted a cry to overtake her but she could not even force tears.

What he told her scared her even more. She watched him leave, her head propped up on the damp pillow. Her naked body lay on the dirty sheets.

Minutes later, a handsome man with a square, pale face who looked as if he had not shaven in days and short, dark hair entered the room. He wore a black t-shirt and a Kevlar vest with a badge over his left breast. Upon seeing her, he became infuriated. "In here!" He yelled. Two other men entered all bearing police badges. Emma is relieved but cannot express her reaction. She tries to move her eyes in a desperate attempt at communication but even they are stuck in place, blinking, once a motion taken for granted, is impossibility. She figured, hopelessly, that the drug would not wear off for hours.

"Woody, I'm calling in the Medical Examiner's Office," one of the officers informed the man who first entered the room.

"Good, we've got quite a case on our hands," he took one last look at the girl lying on the bed and turned away saying with morbid enthusiasm, "I want these rooms preserved. Whoever has done this is a sick bastard and I'll get him!" Emma felt sick with fear, it was one thing doped up and hallucinating but it was another to play dead with reality.

_AN: Well? What do you think? Leave a review, next chapter coming soon!_


	3. III

**III**

Police immediately began pacing around doing their jobs, securing the crime scene, as the officer had ordered. They took pictures of the unmoving Emma as if she were a model for a porn video. Every single piece of evidence was tagged for identification. Eventually a dark man with short, clean cut hair entered the room ahead of a tall, pale female with long dark ringlets and a mole below the right side of her bottom lip. Emma assumed that they were there to dissect her. After a quick examination saying things like, "Time of death," "It must have just happened, she's still warm and rigger mortise hasn't set in." "Here's a foot print," The officer said, "bag them as evidence." "There is not a mark on her body." They moved her body onto a table with a black bag and zipped the bag up. Luckily, there was enough air in her prison to supply her slow moving lungs for a while yet.

Emma could hear the muffled voices of the police and the morticians. However, she could hear one thing very clearly from the man that vowed revenge, "I want information on this Jane Doe, Bug. I want a full autopsy on all of the bodies, but especially this one; whatever killed her has to be in her body somewhere. She must have ingested poison or drugs."

If she could have cried, she would have then. The fate that her kidnapper had promised her was becoming reality and she was powerless to stop it. She could feel the bed on which she lay roll roughly and was shoved into a vehicle. At this moment, amidst the scent of blood and death she lost all hope of continuing life.

It was not long before the vehicle came to a complete halt; she was removed from it, rolled onto an elevator and lifted an indiscernible amount of floors. Left in a room that was colder than winter, a chill ran down her naked spine but her body did not quake. The black bag gave her a certain amount of heat but eventually even the walls were like blocks of ice. Without being able to shiver to keep her body temperature up, Emma thought she would freeze to death.

She could hear movement, but only at times. She lay for what seemed like hours contemplating her life and what she had done to deserve this treatment. Thoughts that never would have entered her mind on any regular occasion crossed it like a squirrel jumping from branch to branch. Suddenly she felt movement and panicked that her final moments were in the cold hands of a coroner, examining her body as if she were dead.

After a short travel and the muffled words, "Trace evidence," the bag zipped open; light and warmth over took her. The same two doctors that had examined her back in the Red Hell transported her to another table. This was new hell to her, a cold sterile environment with tools to poke, prod, and slice her open. Instead of black ski masks, these demons wore splashguards over their faces, gloved hands, and blue smocks as their dress. The man took an instrument from a table that Emma could not see.

Emma gazed solemnly up to the woman's brown eyes as a last ditch attempt at mental communication. Thankfully, Jordan looked uneasy.

"Bug, have you ever seen a dead body with goose bumps?"

Looking at her arms, he said, "What is this?"

"Something's wrong," Jordan said, backing away from the body.

"I'll check her vitals," Bug said, perplexed. He removed the mask and brought his ear down close to her mouth to listen to her breathe while Jordan checked her limp wrist for a pulse. "Oh, my God, she's breathing! I think."

"And she has a pulse although it's very weak," Jordan said looking closely into Emma's eyes with a tiny flashlight, as if checking to see whether her soul was still in her body.

"Bug, warm her up and get her to the hospital, I'll call Woody."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He asked, "Maybe I should call Woody and you should take her to the hospital."

Jordan paused for a moment, contemplating the situation with a depressing look upon her face that did not suit her. Her eyes looked down at Emma's seemingly lifeless body before she said, "Make sure you tell Garret too. I'll get Lily to help me. Then I'll drop by the crime scene and do a little work there, while you perform autopsies on the other bodies."

Jordan rushed out and Bug said to her, "You'll be alright, we'll figure out what happened here."

Instead of blood, warm relief seeped through her veins and for the first time, her mind relaxed.

_AN: close call… R&R_


	4. IV

**IV**

Emma was slightly entertained watching the situation unfold at Massachusetts General Hospital. Two people, a doctor and a grief counselor, from the Medical Examiner's office claimed, to the puzzled administration staff, that they had taken a live person, thought to be dead, from a crime scene who needed immediate medical assistance.

"What is her name?" the assistant asked.

"We don't know," Jordan replied urgently.

She looked up from the computer before saying aloud, "Jane Doe?"

"That's what we've been calling her," the grief counselor, Lily said desperately.

"I guess you don't know whether or not she's been to this hospital before then?"

Jordan swallowed and shook her head, her expression changed suddenly, "Listen, would you hurry up with this, she could be in pain or dying, she needs to see a doctor immediately!"

Emma could not help but feel amusement. She was sitting directly in front of them, slumped over, slightly, like a rag-doll, in a wheelchair and they spoke as if she was not there at all. If only she could speak out, or stand up, but she was helpless. She was thankful that she had somebody to care for her; she could not imagine what it would be like if she were still on the autopsy table.

In a private room, a hospital gown, put on her by an uneasy looking nurse, replaced the blanket that Jordan and Lily, had placed over her. "Are you sure she's not dead?" She repeatedly claimed, "She sure looks dead."

"Believe me;" said Jordan with a smirk, "I've seen enough dead bodies in my day to know that she's not dead."

A young male doctor entered. He had dark skin and eyes and wore thick-rimmed glasses. Lily had propped Emma up on the hospital bed. He did not seem to know where to begin.

"I Suppose I'll start with a physical."

Jordan interposed, "Technically she's already had one. She is living, doctor, I wouldn't want to put her in any more embarrassing situations tonight."

The doctor sneered slightly at Jordan's forwardness. He checked her vitals, blood pressure, her eyes and her ears before asking Lily and Jordan questions about her stability, "Is there anything else you can tell me about her?"

"Well, she's been like this since we took her from the crime scene. The only thing we know is that she physically responds to things like hot and cold, that's how we knew she was alive, she had goose bumps on her arms," Jordan said. "She wasn't harmed in any physical way."

"Well, all I can say is that this is some sort of drug, and we'll have to wait until it wears off to see if there is any physical damage. I will have to contact the police on this, you know."

"Don't worry, the Boston PD is already on it," Jordan said gesturing that he need not to worry.

The doctor left and slowly, over the following eight hours, with strangers and nurses by her bedside, the drug lost its grip on Emma and she slowly regained her mobility. It began with slight movement of her tongue and blinking her eyes. Her fingers and toes began to twitch. A small grin flashed upon her face. Lily Lebowski was by her, taking each small step with her, talking her through her ordeal and giving warm encouragement. She told Emma stories of mystery and heroism by her friends and fellow staff at the Coroner's Office. The stories she told, reminded Emma of her own family and friends back in Vancouver, minus the excitement and drama, and she wondered if they knew what had happened to her.

When Emma regained her ability to cry that is what she did, silent tears streamed down her cheeks in an attempt to wash away the emotional pain. Lily comforted her by holding her hand and telling her of Woody Hoyt, the detective who had vowed to find the bastard who had done this to her. By then he knew that she was alive and was searching even more vigorously through forensic means. Emma could not wait to speak with him on his progress with finding the blue-eyed villain. She hoped that she could help when she regained her voice.

"Woody always gets his man, so you don't need to worry," Lily said.

Soon, she began to have painful muscle spasms telling her that she would be able to use her limbs and the rest of her body. Lastly, Emma began to hum, silently and broken at first, but when she regained her speech, she surprised Lily by blurting emotionally, "M-my n-na-ame iss E-Emmma D-dunnnca-an."

Tears formed in Lily's eyes and after a moment she said, "Well, Emma Duncan, you're in the right hands."

_AN: things seem to be getting interesting no? R&R please :)_


	5. V

**V**

Her full recovery took all of the next day. Jordan Cavanaugh visited her; Emma timidly thanked her for realizing she was not dead before it was too late. A curious mortician named Sydney brought her a warm meal and a simple outfit for her, on behalf of the entire office. With another British fellow named Nigel, Bug had come to visit her as well, bringing her a small bouquet of flowers and apologies saying that from now on, he will definately double check any bodies that come to him. Nigel was kind, like a clown that visits children. The Chief Medical Examiner, Garret Macy, came to extend his sympathy and apologies. With a slight smile, Emma thanked all of these people for coming to see her and especially thanked Lily for staying with her the entire night.

That evening, though still a little stiff, she was released into the custody of Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department, who took her to the station to ask her some questions about what had happened to her.

They sat on opposite sides of a wooden table in a room that Emma supposed was the interrogation room. Only two glasses of water and a file lay between them. She was nervous about telling him her story.

After finishing with the formalities, filling out endless sheets of paper and small talk, he began calmly but with a slight fire in his eyes, "Now, tell me exactly what happened to you."

Emma took a deep breath. She was anxious to leave and put this all behind her. "I had just arrived at my hotel—"

"Yes, it says here you're not from Boston, but that you're from Vancouver?" He glanced down at the papers she had filled out. "What are you doing in Boston?" he asked.

"I arrived on business with a stop in Toronto." He scribbled something on a separate piece of paper and looked up to her, signaling for her to continue. "I had just arrived at my hotel and was getting settled when this guy was in my room all of a sudden—"

"What hotel were you staying at?"

"The Club Quarters on—"

"What room?"

"1006"

"You said that there was a man in the room. Was he there when you got into the room?"

"No, I was brushing my teeth and I heard the door click. I thought it was just my imagination but it, obviously, wasn't and when I finished brushing my teeth I went out in the hallway to check the door and he came up behind me—"

"Was he an employee of the hotel?"

"Not that I know of…" Emma furrowed her brow, thinking that he was asking her stupid questions.

"Did he do anything to you?"

"He stuffed little white pills down my throat with his fingers. I tried to fight back but they made me drowsy and I passed out. The last thing—"

"What's the last thing you remember in the room?"

Emma began to grow frustrated with all of his anxious interruptions, "As I was about to say, the last thing I remember is that he dragged me to the window."

He ignored her curtness, "Did you recognize the man?"

"I didn't get a good look at him in the hotel room, but the night that you came I recognized him. He was—"

"Who was he?" Detective Hoyt asked, his knuckles growing white from the pressure he applied on the desk. When Emma looked into his eyes, she saw a fiery passion that scared her a little but from which she also drew comfort.

She changed her mind on exactly what she was going to say. Instead, she settled for, "He was the man whose taxi I took on the way to the hotel from Logan Airport."

"He was the driver?"

"No, just some guy who wanted a taxi and I took it before he could get to it."

"Could you describe his face or pick it out of a picture?"

"I could draw his face for you. I know what he looks like."

"Good, do you remember anything else about him?"

"He wore all black. A ski mask too. I remember his eyes."

He drew a blank piece of paper and another pen from the file and handed them to Emma. He scribbled some more on his paper saying, "Continue with your chain of events."

Emma reflected for a moment, "That happened last night."

"Do you remember anything of the previous day?"

"Not much," she sighed, afraid that she was not being much help, "I was taken to a strange place and fed more of the white pills which fucked me up, hardcore. People came in and out of the room saying things that I didn't quite understand; something about my body, comparing me with something. I remember sleeping a lot but then my dreams coincided with what really happened. I remember that guy with the eyes, always coming in and forcing me to choke back more pills. Then I heard some shots and different sounds than the ones before—"

"Describe the sounds 'before'."

"They were happy sounds, I suppose; loud thumping music, partying, sex, some screaming, but only once in a while."

"And the new sounds?"

"Terror. After the gun shots they were screams of terror. When the man opened the door, I could see people running. They seemed afraid of him. Some stood at the door, watching to see what he would do with me. He fed me a blue pill and said…" She paused, unable to make out those fateful words that he had spoken.

Hoyt was on the edge of his seat. His eyes were wide he spoke softly to her, "What did he say? I promise I'll get him, if it's the last thing I do on earth."

There was a long pause, tears streamed down Emma's face and she looked up to the cop, her eyes pleading, "H-he said, 'T-they'll think you're dead…'" She sobbed, "'they'll think your dead and cut you up on the table and you won't be able to do a damn thing about it."

_AN: too cheesy? Too non-descript? Too passionate? Not passionate enough? You tell me R&R_


	6. VI

**VI**

After that moment, the detective seemed to warm up to Emma. They continued their session and Woody left her for a while, sitting in the room with her glass of water. She paced and looked into the mirror at her drawn, tired, un-cleansed face until he came back. She felt she looked like a homeless person, in clothes that were too big for her, stringy hair and a dirty face. He reentered the room as she played with her brown, chin length hair; brushing her greasy bangs out of her eyes, she took her seat.

"With the partial drawing you've made, I have some officers looking through the books. I'm afraid that the chief can't spare any other officers, but me, for protection so he's put me in charge of that," he smiled, "as long as you're in Boston, I've got your back."

Emma smiled, feeling comfort that she would no longer be alone in this foreign land. However, she feared that they would never find the man in any of their books.

"Don't you have to do your police work?" She asked, "You mentioned that you're a homicide detective, not a personal bodyguard."

"Don't worry about me," he said, looking into the depths of her eyes, "I promise you I've got the best men on the force working to catch this guy. You have nothing to worry about."

Emma smiled and for the first time since she had arrived in Boston, she felt secure. They stood and he held the door open for her.

Woody continued, "Now, we just have to do a few more things before I take you back to your hotel."

She froze, "If you wouldn't mind, I don't really want to go back to that hotel."

Woody understood and led her to another room where two police officers poured over images of random criminals matching the sketch and accompanying description that Emma had provided. "Do you recognize any of the following men?" He asked handing her a file of images.

She flipped through the pages twice, but none of the men on the pile was the man whose eyes she would never forget. None of them had the piercing blue like shocks of violence exploding from aging skin. None of their noses looked as if a rat had gotten a hold of it and would not let go. No scars or burn marks ravaged their faces, twisting lips into maniacal grins. None of the men had one gold tooth, the right lateral incisor, shining with pride at his criminal record. "No, none of these men are him," tossing the images onto the desk and looking away in disgust, "No; you won't find his picture here."

Woody stood perplexed, "What do you mean?"

"He obviously followed me, he was on my plane. He might not even be from Boston," she said.

Woody looked at her awkwardly, as if he knew she was withholding information.

"Alright, put out an APB on this man, based on the picture she drew. Go through Canadian records too. Call me when you find him," Woody told the other two officers, who did not look the slightest bit relieved to have more work on their hands. Now, they had to search through endless photos of blue eyed, gold toothed, scar faced men from two different countries.

They left Police Headquarters. It was the first time in two days that Emma had the chance to enjoy the crisp, early autumn air. She took a deep breath, smelling the city and feeling the wind flow through her hair. She had never felt more alive in her entire life. After the near death experiences forced through in the past couple of days, she was glad for the ability to walk and laugh, which she was doing plenty of with Woody.

They drove to the hotel and Woody tried to keep her mind off things by telling her cheesy jokes.

"OK, so this mushroom walked into a dance club and asked this girl to dance," Emma glanced at him silently wondering what he was up to, "And the girl replied, 'Are you kidding? You're a mushroom!' and the mushroom replied, 'Oh come on. I'm a _fun guy_!' Do you get it?"

"Yeah, I get it," She could not help but giggle at his attempts, and the way he made her feel sympathy for him by pouting when she thought his jokes were especially bad.

They pulled up to the front of the hotel and got out of the car. Woody made Emma walk behind him, incase her creep had returned to the scene of a crime. He prepared for an ambush as they rode the elevator up to the tenth floor, taking his gun out of his shoulder holster. Emma did not like guns and she grew tense at the silence in the corridor. She handed Woody the replacement electronic key card they had received at the front desk and he quietly opened the door, which seemed odd to Emma. She had considered him the type of person to kick down the door with his gun blazing.

He assured her, and himself, that the room was secure before allowing her to enter. The hotel cleaner had been in, the tabletops were dusted, much to Woody's distaste. He was hoping to have a preserved crime scene to lift fingerprints or genetic material. The used towel she had wiped her face with had been replaced but all of her things were where she had left them. Her captor, surprisingly, had stolen nothing.

She was still wearing the size-too-large clothes that the ME's office had given her as replacement for her pajamas, which had been removed in the place she called Red Hell and were not found.

"Do you think I could change into something more comfortable before we go?"

Woody raised his eyebrow and Emma figured he was thinking of something stupid to say so she took his smile as a yes. She went into the bathroom with her bag and returned wearing dark green cargo shorts and a black shirt with the letters BPD with a magnifying glass under the letters. Woody smiled and said, "Did you come knowing you'd have to deal with the Boston—"

She turned around and he read 'Bachelorettes Party _Down_town.'

She blushed and said, "It was for my friend's Bachelorette Party, obviously. Another friend got these shirts especially for the bridesmaids."

Woody snorted, mock rolling his eyes. "Let's get out of here; I don't want to stay any longer than we have to."

Emma gathered up the rest of her belongings, stowing them away in her bags. She put on a knee-length, black trench coat and took up her purse and a folder while Woody gathered her bags and they headed for the door.

"Where would you like to stay now?" He asked her on the ride down the elevator, "I hear the Four Seasons Hotel is nice."

Emma sighed, "I don't know, my future company was paying for my stay here, in fact, I should probably do something about that."

"Well…" he seemed awkward for a moment as the elevator approached its final decent.

"What?" Emma asked.

"Nothing, we'll find you something."

Emma raised her eyebrows and gave him a serious look.

"So, what kind of business are you in?" He asked.

"Why?"

"Because you could really boss people around with that look of yours!"

Her expression softened as she replied, "If you must know, I am a senior graphic designer for a magazine in Vancouver. I came to Boston because a company here wants me to work for them instead. Now tell me what you were about to say."

The elevator doors slid open.

He became extremely flustered as he tried to cover up his mistake, "Nothing, I wasn't going to say anything! I mean… Well, what I was going to ask you isn't part of protocol and you should just ignore it." He finished through gritted teeth looking anywhere but at her.

She smiled at him, "Of course I'll stay at your place, body guard. After all, what could be safer than spending the week in a cop's apartment?"

Woody's face was purple with embarrassment, "Uh, good. Then it's settled?" He pretended to cough, hiding his face in his hands.

Confidently, she approached the front desk. Clearing her throat she said, "I would like a total refund of my room to the credit card that paid for it."

The hotel agent looked perplexed. "Your room number please?"

"1006," she replied calmly.

The agent began typing on her keyboard with swift enthusiasm, "Is there something wrong with the room, Ms. Duncan?"

"The security measures of this hotel are not up to par."

She stopped typing and looked at Emma, slightly put off, "What do you mean?"

"Two nights ago I arrived here and have not slept in that room yet. A man came into my room while I was there, and took me out through the window, I have been back once, only to retrieve my things," she gestured toward her luggage. Her expression was so serious and demanding that the agent had no choice but to question her manager.

A plump man in a black suit approached the desk and asked to speak privately to Emma in the corner, away from all of the other guests.

"Is that the gentleman who has caused you harm?" He asked, suspecting Woody of the devious crime.

"No, Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department is part of a special task force designed to give me protection from the man who as you say, 'caused me harm'. Are you refunding the total amount or not Sir?"

Emma turned and saw Woody looking anxious from the sidelines. He gave her looks of impatience.

The manager contemplated the situation for a moment then said, "Of course, a full refund will be in order." He was nervous and sweating.

"Thank you," Emma said, turned, and walked back toward Woody.

She flashed him an enormous smile and said, "My business here is done, we can go now."

_AN: OK, so it's getting a little weird, and awkward for Woody, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to keep away from a potential insanity case!_


	7. VII

**VII**

Woody seemed nervous during the car ride to his apartment. His palms were slippery on the steering wheel and he gritted his teeth as he drove. Emma decided to open him up with some idle conversation about the case.

"Have you heard anything else on the case?"

It seemed to work, "No, not yet. I haven't heard from the ME's office either on the other two bodies. We are hoping they are connected to your case."

"How could they possibly be connected? I've never seen him handle a gun," she paused, realizing her mistake and corrected it by continuing, "I mean, when he fed me the pill, he didn't have a gun."

Woody eyed her slightly suspiciously before brushing off her odd comment by changing the subject, "So do you have family or friends back in Vancouver that you should contact?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't want to worry them unnecessarily. I mean, they are all looking forward to me getting this job tomorrow and I would not want to tell them about all this to worry them. They'll just tell me to come home right now, and that won't really help anything."

"What do you mean it wouldn't help anything?"

Emma smiled, "They'll just get protective and concerned. I don't want to worry them. Tell me another joke!"

Woody smiled, "I knew you liked the jokes, but our conversation isn't over. I have a feeling you're not telling me everything."

"What do you mean?" Emma exclaimed becoming defensive.

"You can't lie to me, Emma. I'm a cop remember? I can see through lies."

"You don't have X-Ray vision."

At a red light, Woody turned to Emma and said, "If there is anything you are not telling me that is imperative to the case, you could be doing more harm than good."

She looked him directly in the eyes and said with equal force, "You know all that there is worth knowing."

"But there's more?"

She faltered before admitting, "No. There is no more."

There was a long silence before she asked, "How did you know where did to find me?"

Woody smiled, "We got an anonymous call about some gun shots and found you and two dead women in a warehouse transformed night club in the industrial section of Boston Harbor."

"Tell me a joke now," she said. She grew weary of all the formalities and just wanted to be comfortable. She suddenly wished for a warm bed to sleep in through the entire night.

"OK," he sighed, "here's one Jordan's dad told me a long time ago," He paused, perhaps reminiscing. "It might be a little offensive if you're Irish though."

"Don't worry, I'm not Irish."

"All right, so there was this guy named Paddy, who was in an Irish pub and one night he got right tanked before the bartender said, 'Paddy, I think it's time you went home.' Paddy agreed and he got up, fell on his face, and said, 'Shoite, I must be drunker den I taught!' He belly-crawls to the door climbs up and says, 'Me house is only a couple doors down, I can make it!' He takes a step forward and falls flat on his face, 'Bejesus, I'm fockin' focked!' So he belly crawls to his house, falls on his face as he gets through the door. He looks up the stairs and says, 'No fockin' way!' but he crawls up them anyway, finds his bed, crawls in, and goes to sleep. The next morning, his wife wakes him up and asks, 'Paddy, did you have a bit to drink last night?' Paddy replies, 'I did, how knew you?' She says, 'The bartender called and said you left your wheelchair there,'"

Emma smiled, nearly asleep on her seatbelt, and asked, "Why does a man who's bound to a wheelchair have stairs leading to his bedroom?"

Woody smiled back at her, pulling into an underground parking area, "I don't know, I never thought of it that way before. We're here."

Emma yawned and stretched, "I usually find flaws in tasteless jokes."

From the parking lot, they took an elevator to the third floor and Woody opened his apartment. Emma could tell he felt uncomfortable asking her to wait outside for a moment, keeping her eyes open for any suspicious behavior so that he could tidy up a bit. When he brought her inside she exclaimed, "This is exactly how I envisioned your apartment!"

Woody looked a bit taken aback and frightened with an armful of clothes, he watched Emma as she examined every aspect of his living room.

"Right down to the Boston Red Sox cap on your wall and the futon for a couch," She looked at the takeout boxes of food on the open kitchen counters and wondered if he ever cooked. She asked him.

He replied, "Well, there's really no point if it's just for me, I mean, I have some cereal in the cupboard, but I'm almost never here so…" He trailed off, keeping a close eye on her. "Um, sorry about the mess…"

She giggled as her eyes went over the posters of 'The Kinks' on the walls, the bookshelf used for every bit of paraphernalia except books. Woody was supremely embarrassed, and he showed it to. The last thing she looked at was his face.

However, she smiled kindly and asked, "It's not a problem, trust me, I've seen much worse. Where do I sleep?"

"Oh, uh, you can sleep in the bedroom. I'll take the couch," he opened a door that led to a room off the living room.

"Are you sure, I don't mind couches, I am the one interfering."

"Oh, it's no problem; I normally fall asleep there anyway!" He laughed nervously.

The bed looked untouched; the room was the cleanest area in the house. He dumped the clothes he carried on the floor of the closet and closed it. Flushed he said, "I don't normally spend too much time in here, being on the job 24-7!" He explained.

"Woody," she whispered quietly. He turned around slightly alarmed at her sudden change from excited to calm, losing his flustered appearance. She only said, "Thank you."

_AN: Well, is this not a strange turn of events? Betcha didn't expect that now didja? Well, it gets more interesting. Stay tuned for VIII and feel free to comment on this chapter!_


	8. VIII

**VIII**

For the first time since she had arrived in Boston, Emma slept, for a full eight hours, drug free. She woke to the sun pouring in through the thin, dark blue curtains. Everything around her radiated a peaceful silence. The mingled scent of man-sweat, unfamiliar spicy cologne and a sweet breakfast filled her nostrils. She sighed contentedly as she stretched.

A small knock and the door opened a crack. "Emma?" Woody whispered. "I made breakfast, if you're hungry." She had a feeling that he was wondering if she was still there.

"I'll be right out," she replied groggily, hopping out of bed. The last meal she ate was the one that Sydney had brought her in the hospital. She dug in her bag for a pair of comfortable pants and a shirt. She did not find walking out in Woody's apartment wearing nothing but her silk-lacey number very appropriate.

She found him across the room, buttering toast. "Jam?" He asked.

"If you have strawberry, I'll have some of that."

He nodded, placing two fried eggs, bacon, toast and an exotic mixture of hash browns and flavour onto a plate and handed it to her, smiling. "I hope it's up to par."

"It smells wonderful," she said. Upon tasting his delicacy she asked, "Where did you learn to cook, this is great!"

"Well, after my dad died, I had to start taking care of my little bro. I sort a learned a few tricks of the trade," he grinned.

"Well, you seemed to have mastered that trade." Emma complimented, adding, "I burn toast, overcook eggs, bacon is but a thin, hard crisp and don't even get me started on my hash browns, which are usually flavourless and still frozen."

To hide his embarrassment; Woody turned around, and dished up his own plate. Emma sat at the stool, with her plate on the counter. Woody stood across from her.

"What's the plan for today?" He asked.

"My job interview is at 1:30," she replied.

He smiled, "I can get you there." There was a long pause as they ate their brunch. Woody sad, "You know, it's pretty admirable, you're going about your life as if nothing happened."

She grinned, "Well, when life hands you the short end of the stick, you've just got to deal right? I have to go to this job interview because if I don't, I won't have a secure enough future. This is a big important company that is willing to pay me far more than I can dream of making back home and I can't let anything stand in my way."

"Not even trophy guy?" He asked with a mouthful of bacon.

"I'm not even afraid him. Eventually, you'll catch him and I'll get on with my life. And I guess I'll just act as if nothing ever happened."

She sensed a bit of pride from Woody when she said those words. She knew that he wanted her to depend on him fully to get the job done and that he would keep his promise of defending her. Emma's good sense of character knew she could trust Woody through and through.

"Turn on the TV," he said.

She did as he requested and what she saw horrified her.

Stunned he said, "Do you think you'll be able to get away from that?"

Outside the Medical Examiner's office was a professional looking newscaster with Dr. Macy. She wore a grin that told viewers she knew the story and she was not going to stop until every person involved was interviewed.

"We are not authorized to release any names. I've said all that I can say, I'm sorry, go find your story elsewhere," Dr. Macy said finally.

Emma turned the TV off, turned to Woody and asked, "Are they going to come after me? If they do, he'll find me, won't he."

Woody sighed, finishing his breakfast. Emma had lost her appetite and in silence, he began clearing the counter.

"I'm going to get ready for my interview now," she said, her words lost in thought.

Woody only nodded.

While in the shower, Emma tried to think of ways to avoid the media. She began talking to herself, "They probably know I'm with Woody. They don't know where I'm staying. Maybe I could get a police order to hide my name." After blow-drying some volume into her hair and putting on a respectable amount of makeup, she was going to ask him about these things but the bedside phone began to ring, nearly scaring her half to death. She could hear Woody answer it in the living room as she calmed her nerves, thinking repeatedly that she was nervous about her upcoming interview. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself while dressing.

She emerged from the bedroom ready to go. Woody trailed off in mid conversation with whoever was on the phone as he looked at her. She smiled, wearing a small white jacket overtop a pink button up shirt that was neatly tucked into a flaring, white skirt with pink butterflies up the left side. Her bangs were pinned back with a sparking pink clip. Her smile tried to hide her flattering appearance, but only enhanced her beauty.

"I-I know Jordan!" Refocused he continued, "Can you trace the DNA, do the bullets have a matching gun?" There was a pause, as Jordan responded, "Well there's nothing I can do about it then is there? There are different detectives working on the case," another short pause, "I was given a different task, related to the case, yes." Emma felt he did not want to tell Jordan about her living situation. "Why do you care? Unlike you, Jordan, when I'm told what to do, I see it through!" Those being his final words, he hung up.

Emma, slightly taken aback, said, "Do you mind if I ask what that was all about?"

"No, she was just giving an update on what little progress they have. They are the best at what they do, probably in all of America, but I'm afraid that you were right, this guy is going to be harder to find than any other. All of the evidence we recovered has been no use. There's no gun, no matching DNA, not even on you. It's like he just falls off the face of the planet when he wants to."

Emma was afraid of that very problem.

_AN: You might be asking "What is going on!" You'll find out soon enough, keep reading! R&R_


	9. IX

**IX**

Half and hour later, they were on their way. Equipped with her purse and her folder, she and Woody headed to the building that would house her future.

She walked confidently into the appropriate office, punctually, and with an enormous smile on her face. She introduced herself and took a seat amidst the professionals. They asked her, "What experience have you acquired in the field?" and, "what drove you to accept our proposal?" She answered all of their questions honestly, saving the best for last, the images she had brought from home. Opening the folder, she said, "This is only a small sample of what I can do."

The group was very impressed. They seemed to salivate intensely with every word she spoke, as if she were a meal they wanted to eat or a spell weaver, wrapping their minds around her little finger. They praised her with every image she showed them. They even complemented her on the way she gracefully held her pen. They told her that she was their newest employee, to begin on the sixth of the following month.

She shook hands with each of her new bosses, promised to give them one hundred and ten percent and proudly prepared to leave the office when one of the men, a grey haired, happy looking fellow with suspicious eyes said, "Aren't you the dead girl that all of Boston has been talking about?"

Emma took a sharp intake of breath and felt her face flush. She suddenly began to tremble and fumbled with her examples as she filed them back into the folder. "Well…" she almost tried her recovery by making up a completely different story, and was in the midst of replacing the smile upon her face with a look of interested curiosity when he continued.

"Our lead accountant informed me that the credit used to book your suite at The Club Quarters was refunded to the account on the night that the girl was found alive. The manager said that on your authority, the entire amount refunded. He mentioned something about the security levels?"

"Oh yes, well… I have a cousin who lives in Boston and he doesn't mind me staying with him for the short time I am here as he never gets to see me and we were quite close while we were growing up. I felt horrible for not having stayed in the room and I got him to refund the entire amount because I hadn't stayed even one day."

"I see," the man said, unsure of whether to believe her.

"Well, thank you very much for your time. I shall see you all on the sixth of next month," she turned and left the office.

At the elevator doors, she released the air she had been withholding, 'That was a damn close call…" Alone, she took the glass elevator to the main floor. She began trembling putting a hand on the rail to stop her from collapsing. "I seriously need to get out of Boston." Wiping her brow, recovering a professional appeal, Emma looked out of the glass elevator to the people on the main floor. She smiled, admiring all of the bustling people, a mail carrier delivering that day's news, office workers milling around on their way back to their desks, their stomachs full from a hearty lunch. A mousy haired, blue eyed, scar faced man staring directly at her.

She saw Henry Mercer, his bright blue eyes crinkled into a glare, staring, directly at her as she descended to his level. She stared back, unable to look away. Her mouth slightly ajar in shock and fear, her palms began to sweat and shake as she fumbled around her purse for her cell phone. She turned the power on while keeping her eyes on him. However, when she looked away to dial Woody's cellular number, he had disappeared.

"Detective Hoyt."

Her voice trembling, she blurted, "Woody, he's here. He's in the lobby."

_AN: exciting ne? And silly me, stopping in the middle of an exciting part…_


	10. X

**X**

"OK, I'll be right in. Stay on the phone with me," he instructed, "act as if nothing is happening. You don't want to cause wide spread panic to the people around you."

"All right," she smiled at a couple of professionally dressed people entering the elevator as she stepped out. This situation did not seem to be happening. It was the middle of the day, the bright sun pouring in the building, illuminating everything around her. The air was warm, almost clammy.

"Just keep walking toward the exit, keep cool. I'm entering the building now," he was breathless, as if he had run a short distance to the building.

"Where are you, I can't see you," she whispered, her voice trembling greatly. There were too many people in the lobby for her to pick Woody out in the crowd. What worried her more was that she could not spot Mercer either.

"I'm right behind you," not Woody's voice, but one which was eerily recognizable.

She gasped and turned around to face her shadow, dropping her phone. His scarred face came toward her at a rapid pace. He grabbed the back of her head when she tried to pull away and he kissed her. Sticking his tongue far down her throat, then he released her. Leaving her to choke on his foul breath and the object caught there. She fell to her knees, helplessly, coughing; she dropped the rest of her things.

Woody came up beside her, gun drawn, looking around, "Are you alright?" He touched her shoulder while scanning the crowd.

She gasped for air, removing a little blue pill from her tongue, "I think so."

"Hey, it's her! It's that mysterious woman everybody's talking about!" A nearby man exclaimed. Suddenly, there was a group of people forming a ring around them. Some of them had cameras on their phones and rapidly began taking pictures.

Woody, annoyed, flashed his badge, "Boston PD, did anybody see where he went?" His voice rang above the buzz of the people.

A few people gestured toward the door, not taking their eyes off Emma. He had escaped again. Woody ushered her out, leaving the gaping, picture-taking crowd behind them.

_AN: R&R please!_


	11. XI

**A/N: **_I think I'm going to start putting my notes up here from now on. Take note, I've never developed a story so complex with mystery and evidence, I'm no medical examiner at heart, so the details are kinda sparce but I hope that you still like it because I really have tried my best! Review!_

**XI**

Minutes later within the presumed safety of the car, Woody tried to calm a hysterical Emma down, "Deep breaths, Emma; calm down."

"I-w-want-him-to-be-g-gone-f-for-go-good," she hiccupped and bawled, showing her true, frustrated, unbearable emotions on the situation. Previously her tears had been half-joyful having been rescued from near death and for regaining her mobility, something she thought she seriously took for granted. She just let go.

Woody did not know what to do. He could not let her cry uncontrollably, for some unfathomable reason it bothered him so. He pulled her into a hug where she moved her puffy eyes to his shoulder. Rubbing her back and stroking her hair, as a friend does, he calmed her enough to look in her face, which was flushed with an eternal frown. Her eyes were swollen and her makeup was running. His heart skipped a beat as he thought her beautiful; he moved a piece of hair out of her face.

His voice thick, "We're going to go to the Medical Examiner's office. I'm going to figure out what progress they've made with the forensic evidence, and you are going to have a nice chat with Lily. Agreed?"

Taking deep breaths, Emma agreed.

"Do you still have the pill?"

"Yes," Emma shivered at the thought of nearly choking to death on it. She revealed it from a small pocket inside her white jacket.

"Put it in here and give it to me." He handed her a small plastic bag, with a tiny evidence label on it, "I'll get Nigel to run some tests on it,"

Upon arriving at the morgue, Woody and Emma received many looks from the employees, some of curiosity others of confusion. Bug and Nigel met them in the corridor, greeting Emma briefly, and excitedly start listing what forensic evidence they have found on the two dead bodies.

"I don't know, Woody," Nigel said, "Jordan has been over that crime scene again and again, asking questions, poking her nose in where it doesn't belong, you know, the regular. She hasn't found anything. No gun to match the bullets no other prints and no other DNA evidence!"

"The only information she seems to have gotten out of any of those fools is that the warehouse was transformed into a Dance Club a couple of years ago by one secretive dude. He holds "Trophy Contests", you know, who can get the most gorgeous female," Bug's eyes shifted uncomfortably toward Emma. "We can't find him. Because of Emma's testimony, all of the witnesses have been cleared except for that one fellow. Now, the only witnesses willing to give information are Emma and the two Jane Does'."

"Do you have a positive ID on them?" Woody questioned seriously.

Bug sighed, "No, we've been searching the database since they came in and there hasn't been any tips. No missing persons with their description in Boston or elsewhere."

Woody did not want to show Emma that he was apprehensive about solving the case. He asked Bug and Nigel to hold their conversation for a moment while he escorted Emma to Lily's office.

"Hey Lily," Woody greeted her, knocking on the door with a wide smile on his face, "Mind if I leave Emma with you for a while?"

"Are you serious? Of course you can!" Lily exclaimed, greeting Emma with a hug.

"How have you been?"

Emma replied "Well…"

Their conversation trailed off as Woody jogged down the hallway to the lab in which he knew they were researching the case. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out the baggy with the pill in it.

"Hey Dr. Macy. Nigel, do you think you could tell me what's in this?" Garret nodded his head with a slight smile at Woody's appearance.

"What is it?" Nigel asked with morbid interest. Comprehension suddenly dawned upon him, "Is this _the_ pill. The one he used to make Emma immobile. I mean, I can't personally do anything, but, as always, I do know somebody who can. I'll send it right away!"

"Do you think he might have used it on the other bodies?" Woody asked after Nigel had returned.

"We found no trace of any narcotics or poisons in their systems. The way their bodies lay, the expressions on their faces, tell us that they were completely mobile when they died." he informed Woody.

"It seems Emma is one lucky lady," Jordan said sarcastically, entering the crime lab.

"If you call what happened to her lucky," Woody replied coolly.

Woody expected a snide remark in return but Jordan only raised her eyebrows and kept silent.

Bug broke the uncomfortable pause, "The only thing we found on the body of Jane Doe number 1123 are short, brown hairs of a male persuasion otherwise, that room is full of Jane Doe's genetic material, her finger prints are on the walls, her skin cells and hair cover the bed. On the body of Jane Doe number 1124, we found the same unidentifiable male hairs we found on the previous body with the exception that there was skin matching the DNA of that hair under her fingernails. Otherwise, the bodies were both spotless. Cause of death for both of them was a bullet wound to the heart (two in Jane Doe 1124) which, consequently ceased blood flow to the parts of the body."

Nigel continued, "On the forehead of Jane Doe, 1124, we also found cerebral hemorrhaging consistent with a fall, after death. In the hallway leading to the room of Emma Duncan, bloody shoe prints matching the blood of Jane Doe 1124. Finally, in the room of Emma Duncan, we found fibers of black cotton, most likely a sweater, jogging pants or a ski mask. There was a failure to complete trace evidence or autopsy of victim because she turned out not to be dead."

"Very funny," Woody said moodily, "There has got to be something we're missing!"

"We're sorry, Woody," Nigel's voice lowered, "Right now; we've gone as far as we can. Macy's already pushing other cases on us; it's a deadly time of year you know."

"Bug, you're needed in trace," Macy exclaimed.

Nigel shrugged as if to prove his point.


	12. XII

**A/N: **_The chapters following XI are in, succession, what drama unfolds in the morgue._

**XII**

"Well, I've been better," admitted Emma.

Lily smiled sweetly and replied, "I understand. Do you want some tea? I was just about to make myself a cup."

"Tea would be nice," Emma said half-smiling.

Lily nodded and left the room. 'She really is a sweet woman, the type of person who could find a good heart in anybody whether he or she was a victim, a criminal, or a liar,' Emma reflected. Lily returned quickly, bearing a tray of goodies.

"So, has anything happened since you got out of the hospital?"

"How did you know?" Emma asked surprised, pouring steaming water into her cup.

"Let's just say working here has developed a sixth sense for misery," she exclaimed sarcastically. "I'm just kidding. Your mascara is a bit messy. So what happened?"

Emma, running her finger underneath her eye to tidy up, gave her a quick rendition of what had happened only the hour before, "At least I got the job though," she added, with a shrug and a small laugh.

"Oh you poor thing!"

"Lily, if you don't mind, I don't really need pity. I think that everybody in Boston, no scratch that. Everybody in North America is feeling pity for me right now."

Smiling earnestly, Lily said, "Of course, I'm sorry. It's, sort of, what I do. You know, therapeutic counseling; connecting with the mourner, or victim."

"I understand," Emma unwittingly let out a small laugh, and a little too much information, "Woody sort of gets me through though. He's really determined to get this guy. He even let me live in his place until I leave Boston."

Lily surprised by this, her eyes wide, she asked, "Really?"

"Oh, don't get the wrong impression, we're not sleeping together. It's totally for my protection."

Precisely at this moment, Jordan walked stonily past the open office door toward the crime lab where, unbeknownst to Lily and Emma; Woody, Bug and Nigel were discussing the case. She glanced at Lily, who had a look of shock and worry on her face.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked, knowingly innocent of any drama between Woody and the employees of the Coroner's Office. "Are Woody and Jordan…?" She let her sentence trail off.

Lily brought one hand up to her head, the other she rested on her hip, as if to think for a moment. "No." She put on a grin and stood to close the door. Her expression became serious, "It's just that," she sighed, unsure of where to begin, she paused to gather her thoughts before saying, "I don't want to speak for Woody but I will tell you that, in my opinion, Woody becomes incredibly passionate when he's close to a case. He covers up his sensitivity by giving it his all. It can be a problem sometimes; you could say it's his downfall. He doesn't care if he's injured or if the criminal dies. He just goes at it; you know what I'm saying?" Emma nodded though she did not fully comprehend. Lily continued, "He's particularly sensitive toward crimes that have to do with women, especially those who were or may have been raped, children and police. And the closer he is to a person, the crazier he becomes."

Emma remembered what Woody he had said to her at the station, 'I promise I'll get him, if it's the last thing I do on earth.' She only thought that he was passionate in his job but now she understood and said, "Is that why he sometimes treats me like a child?"

The question stunned Lily; she opened her eyes wide and said, more to herself than to Emma, "He's doesn't want to see you hurt." Emma wanted to delve deeper into the conversation but moments later, Nigel and Bug knocked and entered with sandwiches for themselves.

Nigel said, "We hope you don't mind us eating in here. If Macy finds us, he'll have our throats."

"He's got us working to the bone," Bug complained, "Not that we don't want to solve this double murder, attempted murder. I don't even know what it is anymore, I'm so hungry!"

Lily chortled as Nigel and Bug dug into their dinners.


	13. XIII

**A/N: **_Please review, it pumps up my deflated ego (this is on of my favorite parts!_

**XIII**

Once Bug and Nigel had left the crime lab, Jordan approached Woody with her hand outstretched as if to shake his, and greeted warmly, "Hi Woody, I'm Jordan, nice to meet you."

Woody faced her, "Jordan, what are you doing?"

"You have avoided all of my cases in the past four months, ever since you nearly took the life of that cop killer. We haven't had a decent conversation in that long, I'm merely trying to get reacquainted with you," she told him.

Woody sneered, the vein in his temple beginning to bulge, and keeping a level of professionalism she asked, "Do you ever think that maybe there's a reason we stopped talking Jordan?" She could think of a valid one but decided not to voice it. He continued, "I thought you understood the way I work, and feel and then you turned your back on me—"

"You were—"she cried desperately.

"What? Going about it all wrong, Jordan, you, of all people should know, not everything is by the book. I needed release, Jordan; you will never know the way I felt. The way I still feel!"

She had wanted to keep their conversation civil, but it seemed that Woody was not in a gracious frame of mind. Jordan seemed determined not to let tears form in her eyes. With gritted teeth she said, "I don't understand? Do you remember my mother? killed by—"

"Fuck your mother Jordan!" He exclaimed heatedly, "This happened to me! I almost died, and then I thought I was paralyzed. If that wasn't bad enough you lied to me while the pain in my side festered, your words were like poison!" He was so close to her face, he was spitting on her, "And now," his eyes were wild, his lips trembled, "I will never heal."

Jordan's tough shield shattered with his words. Her heart opened up and physically began to ache causing a thin line of tears to form in her eyes and to quietly stream down her cheeks, her voice trembled but was quiet as she stated, "I meant what I said, whether you believe me or not, I meant every damn word of it." They became aware of a small crowd gathering. Macy too stunned to separate them, Nigel and Bug returning from a short lunch. She whispered her last words in a malicious tone so that they could not hear, "Do you know what hurts most of all? She's living with you. You knew what would happen but you did it anyway, you irrational son of a bitch."

Woody was stiff in his response, as silent as she was, "For one, that is none of your concern. Secondly, as long as she is in my jurisdiction, she is under my protection." Those being his last words, he stormed angrily passed Nigel toward Lily's office.

His words were like icicles in Jordan's hot ears.


	14. XIV

**A/N:**_ please review! I'll even go for some critique!_

**XIV**

Ten minutes after they had left, Woody finally spoke, "Are you hungry?"

Emma, who was thinking about Woody's silent attitude, as she looked upon the lights of the city, replied in the affirmative.

"If you could have anything to eat, what would it be?"

"I don't know."

He sighed, "You're like a child you know."

"Only because you treat me like one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He exclaimed sandwiching the car in between two others on the curb.

"The way you drag me around like I'm your shadow, 'we're going to the morgue now, and you're going to talk to Lily while I talk about the case with my good pals here,'" she mocked. "It's like you don't think I can handle what's going on."

He nodded silently, and without saying anything in reply, he got out, "Stay here, and honk if you need me." Something must have happened in the crime lab for him to be acting this way, just as a feeling had stirred her emotions in Lily's office. When he had come back to retrieve her, he held the same fiery expression on his face as he had in the police station the night before. She did not ask what had happened, she innocently obeyed and followed him to the car. What was her problem? Why does she let people push her around from one situation to the next?

She locked the doors. It began raining as she waited for his return. She listened to the rubber of the windshield wipers slide monotonously across the glass. She fiddled with his CD's and put in one labeled, 'The Kinks, _You Really Got Me_, Castle Edition.' Woody soon returned with a to-go bag and two Pepsis, and a smile at his favorite, high school band. He hopped into the driver's seat, and peeled away from the curb with gusto. Racing home before the black clouded storm could catch up with him. Thunder ripped through the sky as the car turned into the underground parkade.

"We'd better take the stairs in case of a power failure," He said, reaching into the backseat and taking their meal. In the stairwell, he finally came up with an answer. It seemed to take all of his courage to say it, as if the entire subject embarrassed him. His voice echoed, "I don't mean to treat you like a child. I'm sorry for that. I just think—"

"You just think that because I'm a woman and a person who is younger than you, that I haven't seen what you have seen and that I can't handle the situation I'm in," she finished for him.

"I suppose you could look at it that way," He said sheepishly, unlocking his apartment, quickly checking for anything amiss and then putting the food on the coffee table.

"Well, I can handle the situation." Once they had settled on the futon in front of the TV, Emma asked, "These smell good, what are they called?"

"Chimichangas; a deep fried burrito."

"Sounds artery clogging," Emma assumed taking a bite into one.

Woody did not answer; His mind seemed constantly to be brewing over something. They ate in silence but for the action on TV. Emma felt as if she were on a TV stake out.

When they had finished their dinner, Emma, sipping on the remainder of her Pepsi, casually asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead," said Woody, although slightly tense.

"What's up with Jordan?"

"Jordan? Oh, nothing," He replied disdainfully.

"She seemed pretty angry while she was walking past Lily's office when I was telling her I was staying here."

"You what?" Woody exclaimed, "You told somebody?"

"I told Lily, I'm pretty sure she's not going to tell the whole world. And Jordan might have overheard us talking," Emma replied defensively.

"Never mind about Jordan, you've put us both in a dangerous situation."

"Nobody else heard!"

Woody glared at her, "You're sure?"

"Yes! I'm sure the media poses more of a threat than Lily and Jordan!"

"You don't know Jordan…"

"There you go again, acting as if I can't handle the situation!"

Woody exploded, "You can't handle the situation, that's how you got into this mess! Remember, you got kidnapped, in your own hotel suite."

From the futon, Emma cast her eyes downward, "Only because I ignored the warning signs. And then neglected to tell you about them…"

Woody froze; he was pacing the living room like a father scolding his child for staying out late at night, drinking or doing drugs. However, now he stopped and looked at her blankly.

Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the room from the outside seconds later an especially loud crack of the thunder sounded. The TV began to flicker in tune with the lights and even the refrigerator was silent.

"I'll get a candle," Woody sighed.

Emma could hear him shuffling through drawers. She was silent in the darkness afraid that her enemy might be lurking and if she made a sound, he would find her, immobilize her, and steal her away before Woody could find out.

However, her silence alarmed Woody and he asked, "Emma, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she quietly whimpered.

He did not answer; instead, he struck a match, which lit a white candle. He put the candle in the middle of the coffee table.

She felt disgustingly innocent, afraid of the dark as she was, she decided to make light of the circumstances and said, "I learned the definition of Necrophilia today."

Woody studied the half-grin on her face, and said, "Don't try to change the subject."

"Nigel told me that it's the urge to crack a cold one."

Woody contemplated her oddly for a second. 'How can this sweet little thing have such a dirty mouth? Wait, I'm forgetting, she's not little, or all that sweet. She's a grown woman. How can somebody in her situation think so morbidly? How can she have withheld information from me?' He recalled what she had said about moving on despite her terrorization by a stranger. Had she been doing so for longer than he suspected? He realized that in order to face her experiences, with courage, she needed to stand up and make her reality comic.

His eyes creased and his lips curled into a semi-smile, "That's pretty good. Now do you want to tell me what you meant before when you said you ignored the warning signs? How could you, Emma? I let you in my home, I'm taking care of you and you couldn't bother to tell me the whole story? Even after I had asked if you had missed anything?" With his arms folded, his voice was gentle, not accusing, as she had expected him to be.

Emma curled up on the couch, looking up to him like a lost kitten. She smiled silently. Her smile was not a happy one; it was one, which knew that if Woody became too irate, she would be lost on him. A grimace saying, 'I've held this in for reasons of my own and I'm only telling you now because I trust you, even if it bites me in the ass.' She showered herself with guilt

He took a seat beside her, putting a yielding hand upon her knee, "Do you want to tell me what this is all about?"

Deep inside, she felt he already knew what was eating her up. His touch comforted her somewhat, knowing that they were both still human, that they made mistakes, kept secrets and told lies. However, from what she had studied about Woody, he was perfect. Woody did not lie, or stretch the truth. He did not hold information from important people, only people who were not on a need-to-know basis. At that moment, she had never felt so awkward with him.

He sighed, removing himself from her, reclining on the futon so that he faced her. Upon his face was a serious expression. He eagerly waited to hear what she had to say.

"Well, I think you should know t-that…" she trailed away, too afraid to continue. She looked at him in silence. His intense eyes searched within her for the courage; saying nothing, only waiting for her to continue. "I'm so ashamed," she admitted, burying her frustration in her hands.

Still wordless, he patiently sat across from her. She wished he would say something to convince her to carry on, she felt as if he would sit there all night just waiting. She imagined the candle wax dripping down the table, evaporating in the heat for hours until it was a waxy stub, snuffed out with time. He would still be sitting there.

Finally, he said something, "I know you're hiding something important to the case."

Emma looked, bashfully up at him. She blurted in a whisper, "I know his alias, and I've known it for a while."


	15. XV

**XV**

"What?" Woody asked sharply. His change in expression surprised her. He stood and she thought he was going to yell and ask her the reason for her secret. Instead, after a moment, he regained composure and sat with his head in his hands contemplating her words.

Emma rested her body on her knees, "I am so sorry, Woody."

He stood and glared outside his apartment window, speechless. The reflection of the rain cast an eerie blue light upon his hardened face.

Immediately she began her explanation. "He follows me, Woody. I first saw him eyeing me in the local grocery store back home. I was, understandably a little disgusted but I brushed it off. That was until I started seeing him all of the time. Everywhere I went, the bar, parties, I even saw him at work a few times; he seemed to have some sort of excuse for being there. He blamed every situation on coincidence. He told me that his name was Henry Mercer. I believed him, of course, until I was speaking with my landlord about the man who had moved in next door to me."

She was becoming passionate in her story telling, finally relieved to be getting all of this information off her chest. Her momentum increased and she began talking at an incomprehensible speeds.

"My landlord said that his name was Greg Indulta. I was complaining about him because I constantly heard strange noises, the sound of an electric drill putting holes in the walls, always super late at night. He said he would look into it, but before he got back to me, I found out what was happening. The drill was to put holes through his walls, into my own. Woody, I was living next door to a peeping tom…"

She saw Woody's lips curl maliciously; the vein in his temple throbbed slightly and his eyes squinting into the dark night.

Her voice grew weak, as if calling upon her memories caused her fatigue, "I confronted him. I found two holes in my bedroom wall and one in my bathroom and I pounded on his door until the bastard opened it. I was so surprised to see Henry Mercer there I didn't know what to say. I just—I just... I ran. I ran back into my apartment and started packing, not even caring if he was spying on me. I called my best friend and I left. I haven't been back to my apartment since that time, three weeks ago. I started keeping a baseball bat next to wherever I slept."

She paused. Letting her words sink into his mind. Trying to make him understand was the hardest part.

"It was so hard living like that. I no longer had a fixed address. I jumped from one friend or family member to the next. I contemplated quitting my job; then I got this call at work. They asked me to come to Boston. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. To start a new life, to get away from this stalker," she sighed, unsure of Woody's thoughts. He had been silent for her entire recollection. "Woody, I didn't tell you for that very reason, I want a new life. As I sped away in the cab, I felt invincible; he would never find me again, there was no way he could. Nobody knew where I was staying. Nobody knew where I had applied."

"What made you think that he couldn't find you?" Woody asked coldly.

Tears came to her eyes, "I had to believe it Woody. Here, I had no proof of what he'd done to me. It wasn't as if he'd hurt me before. I have to move on with my life. Woody you have to understand," she felt pitiful pleading with him.

His stern expression frightened Emma.

"A-are you angry with me?" Helpless tears brimmed in her eyes as she waited for his response.

Woody thought for a moment, thinking that he should be supremely angry with her. He could make her find her own place to stay and would be completely within his rights. Instead, he replied, "I am a little angry with you, because you should have dealt with this immediately after finding out who he was—"

"I was so afraid though…"

"But," his voice was soft and gentle, so uncharacteristic of him, "I'm even angrier with the bastard who's done this to you." Successfully, he had put himself in her shoes and realized her situation.

"We've had a long day, we should get some sleep," he said, mustering the fakest smile. Emma knew something bad was up. She agreed, stood, contemplated doing something to show how thankful she was but when nothing came to mind, she walked three steps and went into the bedroom. After a short silence, she heard him talking on the phone.

After two hours, and the return of power, there was silence in the apartment but for the rain pounding against the glass. The unfamiliar scratches and creaks bothered Emma into wakefulness. In her mind, she heard power drills and his voice whispering in her ears. She imagined wind blowing through trees but it was the last straw when a shadow flickered across the window, frightening her. Emma found that it was only a crow, finding shelter under the window's overhang.

Nonetheless, she emerged from under the covers, and got out of bed. She went to the door, it squealed as she opened it a crack. There was a click and she gasped as she saw the barrel of Woody's gun pointing at her face.

He lowered it saying, "Emma?"

"Woody," she whispered, "will you be my baseball bat?"


	16. XVI

**A/N: **_A sort of fun chapter. Review please!_

**XVI**

Emma's waking dream was filled with sunrises and happiness. She understood them to be omens of a better future. She woke to a contentedness she had never felt in the past as her eyes peeled open to a sun filled room. Woody was looking at her with a foolish half-grin on his face, he admired her flyaway hair and sleepy eyes. She felt comfortable with him next to her, un-touching, just lying in the same bed.

Woody, on the other hand, had a slightly more difficult night, ever more aware of danger. Wondering what had bothered her so. Until the storm ceased, he could not catch a wink of sleep and even then, his vague dreams had familiar faces fighting one another in a competition he could not partake. He covered up his emotions with the thought that he slept with her in order to fulfill the duty of protection he had promised. Although she had kept secrets from him, he understood why and he admitted, albeit to himself, that he cared for her.

"Do you like coffee?" She asked, "I make a wicked coffee."

He took a deep breath and stretched under the duvet, "I'm sure you do, but I like going to the park more. Then, maybe for a sunset cruise on Boston Harbor, dinner perhaps. You know, like spending a day outside, and what better day to do it than in October, the beginning of autumn."

Emma was dumbfounded, "Really?"

Woody looked at her and smiled, "Of course. You didn't think I was going to hold you prisoner here all day did you?"

Without answering, she flung herself upon him in the tightest hug she had ever given anybody, "But what about the media and the public attention?"

"I've pulled a few strings; something about privacy and moving on. You know, it is one thing to talk about the dead, but it's another thing when you're just a regular girl and her police protection going for a day of touring around Boston. Besides, it's pretty sunny, you might want to bring a pair of sunglasses."


	17. XVII

**XVII**

Meanwhile, Jordan decided to start her day early. Not only the storm had left her sleepless, but also her fight with Woody the previous day had jarred her into a new frame of thinking. She was determined to rid him of his parasite as soon as humanly possible. Her passion for solving mysteries and her feelings for Woody gave her the determination and fire she needed.

She called up Detective Matt Seely, who, with Woody, was the top man on the case, and the one bearing the majority of the workload.

"Jordan, it's like really early, do you think—"

"I'm sorry what's the time? Nine? In the morning? Get up, and meet me at the warehouse in Boston Harbor. One hour."

She hung up her cell phone. She hated being the boss; it made her sound more obstinate than she usually is. However, little did he know, she had been there for three hours already, combing over every detail she may have passed the three other times she had investigated the area. She would keep returning until they solved the case.

"The sooner we catch this guy, the sooner that leach can go home," she said to herself.

She was looking over the room of the first Jane Doe. At the morgue, she still had Bug and Nigel looking over missing persons' reports and other ID checks to reveal the identities of the two unlucky ladies in the cold room. Lily was even working harder than ever, trying to match families to them.

"OK, Jordan, what's going on?" Matt asked, entering the room with a coffee in his cold hand. "Couldn't you have called Woody on the case? Did you do know that this would have been my first day off in three weeks?"

"Well, it'll look good on your pay-cheque then, working over time always is, you know. To serve and protect."

"Sadly, I'm a salary man," He sighed, "Anything new?"

"No, but there has to be something."

He cocked his eyebrows, "You called me out of bed to keep you company while you search for something that isn't there?"

Jordan scowled at him. "Do you think you could help me out?"

"You're not going to reenact the scenes are you?" He asked skeptically.

"Well I can't do it alone, you're going to help me," she faced him.

Matt rolled his eyes, "I heard you were crazy, and I was hoping I would never have to actually experience it first hand," he set his coffee down on a nearby table and pretended to aim his 'gun' at Jordan, who had positioned herself where she expected the first victim to fall.

In her minds eye, the room changed. It was dark, red light filtering in from the hallway. Imaginary men gathered around her gloating over the way she looked. However, she had not been kidnapped; perhaps she had enjoyed the attention of being a trophy girl. If the room, covered in her matching genetic signature, had been a prison, she had enjoyed it. There were no signs of escape, no signs of a struggle of any kind. Matt, in the guise of a ruthless killer, took out his gun; at this moment, screaming began, "Boom," he shot once aiming directly for the heart. He had to be an expert shooter to have such careful aim. Jordan lay naked, an expression of relaxed unbelief upon her face as blood poured down her body from her left breast.

Silently they went to the next room, Matt, thinking, as the killer would have, his next target, Jane Doe 1124.

In this room, a struggle may have ensued; her relationship with her killer was quite different from that of his previous victim. She had heard the gunshots in the room next door and was standing, perhaps in a defensive form, bearing all, when he entered. Jordan assumed that she had been close enough to her killer to scratch him before, "Boom, boom," he had shot her twice in the heart. She fell onto her face.

"I like how you look dead when you do that," Matt commented sarcastically.

Jordan continued to the next room. This room was different from the other two. It was a cold and sterile environment. Unlike the other two, which, Jordan deduced, seemed to have been the other women's homes for longer than one night.

"OK, so she's drugged and on the bed. She can't fight back, because the drugs that she's on are overpowering. He slips her a new pill. However, because she's on drugs to begin with, her pupils aren't dilated and she appears dead. Why would he kill the other two and not kill her?" Jordan questioned.

"Well for one, there is no forensic evidence tying the murders to the same person who drugged Emma. The only DNA evidence we have is that the same man was in two of the rooms, 1124's and Emma's. The left footprint is an average male size matching a boot that's used in work and casual situations and sold at millions of places in North America. We can't put the same killer in the first room because although the bullets are the same, the gun could have been handed off." Matt said, "as well, perhaps he didn't want to kill Emma because he held her in higher regard than the other two women. Perhaps he saw something in her that prevented him from actually doing the deed." Leaving the room and turning left, still following the supposed path of the killer.

"His trail pretty much ends there." Jordan followed him, "The blood may have dried on his shoe, or he wiped it off…" She said. Matt removed a plastic bag from his jacket and bent down. Light from the glass warehouse windows shone toward a dark corner, a piece of evidence revealed; a white cloth apparently smeared in blood. Without touching it, Matt put it into the bag and handed it to Jordan. "We'll be getting some DNA from this."

"Hopefully we'll be getting more than that today," Matt said, "it seems that the hours we've put in today were for a good reason." He gestured outside. Near the dock, a man stood, looking toward the building, however unaware of Jordan and Matt's presence. He pulled something out of his jacket.

"Is that a gun?" Exclaimed Jordan her eyes adjusting to the bright outdoor light. She turned to Matt, but he was already gone. She heard his steps fly down the metal steps, two at a time. She chased after him hoping finally to catch the bastard and free Woody.


	18. XVIII

**A/N: **_You may notice a developing pattern here. One chapter is filled with fun while the next chapter is filled with Jordan's crime solving intuitiveness. Where will it all end? Keep reading and reviewing!_

**XVIII**

After a day of exploring gardens and the city of Boston via trolley, Woody and Emma returned to his apartment to change their clothes.

"I never knew half the things about Boston until I learned them today!" Woody admitted. "I guess that's what you get for never having actually explored the city you live in."

"I know what you mean, I never knew how beautiful Vancouver was until somebody would come to visit. We would always take them touring to where they wanted to go. I never knew it was so beautiful there!"

He smiled, glancing to the digital time reading on his microwave. "We'd better hurry, our cruise leaves in an hour and a half!"

Emma smiled at him, studying him for a moment.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, meandering into the bedroom to adapt her look.

She started with her hair, sprucing it with volume, parting it at the side and letting her bangs fall alluringly into her eyes. She touched up her makeup and slipped into a knee length, black number, accentuating her curves and accented her look with a scarf around her neck. She emerged from the bedroom to see Woody looking equally as classy.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw her, adjusting his metallic blue tie, which accented his crisp white shirt underneath a tuxedo jacket. His shoes shone from the reflected the light.

She smiled, "You look like James Bond."

He grinned devilishly, saying in a mock British accent, "Hoyt, Woodrow Hoyt, and who would you be, you majestic thing?"

Emma covered her blushing face sheepishly, "Shall we?" She held out her arm, taken, gracefully, by Woody, who led her out of the apartment.

She was having the greatest day of her life.


	19. XIX

**XIX**

Jordan was on the other end of the spectrum. She felt that the solution to this crime was just out of reach. They ran out of the warehouse, Jordan on Matt's heels only to find that the obscure gun-toting man has deserted, however, leaving behind his footprints, which Jordan found incredibly helpful.

"Here, a left foot print, size 9 and a half, matching the bloody one left in the building. In fact, because of the mud here, there's something in the print."

Matt came to investigate the soft ground upon which Jordan poured over, ordering her to, "Take its picture, make a mold and test whatever that is. Blood?" He speculated.

"Could very well be," she said, going back to her vehicle to retrieve on of the kits she had brought.

Police and divers swarmed around. New information usually rekindled the flame in their hearts that made them want to catch the criminal and lock him up for good. Word of a gun tossed into the ocean was that very fuel.

Matt tried to contact Woody on the specs of the case but to no avail. "His damned cell phone must be off," he cursed, frustrated, "if he's so adamant about me calling him, every five minutes, then why does he turn off his phone?"

Much time passed, the sun began to set and the search was about to be called off. Perhaps the murder weapon had not been dropped into the water after all. Perhaps it was only their hope of catching the criminal that had led them to suspect in such a thing. Suddenly, one of the divers emerged from the blue with the very thing they had hoped.

"Finally!" Matt exclaimed retrieving the weapon and passing it off to Jordan.

Back in the lab, she set the new information and evidence in a line, according to when she received them and set to work. Bug and Nigel entered the lab to help her.

"What do we have here?" Nigel exclaimed, salivating from the site.

"Nothing a little more hard work couldn't produce." She reiterated what had occurred adding, with exuberance, "I'm willing to put a little extra overtime into this."

Bug and Nigel exchanged fervent looks behind her back before digging in. They each took an item, Nigel claimed the cloth, Bug took the shoe print, but Jordan reserved the gun for herself.

After nearly two hours of studying their projects, they communed once again with Matt and Garret heading the proceedings. "Jordan, why don't you start?"

"The 9mm gun's clean, as in no finger prints or DNA. Its tracking device, the register number on the side, has been scratched so that it's unreadable. The bullets it produces match those that were removed from both of the bodies," she said, disappointed that she could not produce more.

Bug continued down the line, "We have an interesting piece of evidence here. A twelve-inch square piece of cloth of a cotton material, with the insignia of a steaming clock and the words 'Gastown' underneath, covered in a combination of unspecified dirt, drinking alcohol of many different flavours, but predominately the blood matching the DNA of Jane Doe 1124. As well, we have latent prints," He pointed out on the screen the cloth was displayed on, indicating his marks with a pointer, "Here an index, here a thumb, and a pinky."

"Did you—"

"I'm searching the database for the prints as we speak. In addition, I did a little research on 'Gastown'. It's a part of Vancouver with stores, restaurants; it is a tourist trap really, a few blocks from Coal Harbor."

A grin crept upon Macy's face, "Nice work Bug."

Nigel glared, determined to show him up, knowing that, with all the evidence he uncovered, that was impossibility. "Well, the shoe print is a match to the bloody print found at the murder scene down to the wear on the heel and the blood embedded between some of the cracks. As well, I have found this simple piece of evidence. Good work, Jordan, uncovering this piece of foliage, it's the part of a simple leaf that is native to Independence Square Park, a Vietnam memorial," Nigel noticed the strange expressions he was receiving from his colleagues and said, "I know these things from past experience all right? Anyway, The Mellennium Bostonian Hotel is near there, and being the genius that I am called and asked if there was a man fitting the description of our number one suspect. They said that he'd checked in the night our mystery began and checked out this morning. The site is only a short one-mile drive away from our crime scene. And get this; the agent had given the name of our number one suspect, Tom Gearson."

He smiled, proudly, at Bug, slightly put off by the fact that Nigel had received a name.

Matt sighed, "It's an alias." The four medical examiners turned to him with looks of shock. "Woody called yesterday, seems Emma came out with a little more of her story. The reason that cloth has something from Vancouver on it is because our elusive criminal is from there. He's been stalking her for weeks and she came here to escape him."

"What?" Jordan exclaimed, furiously flushed.

"He's used many aliases," he continued, "she calls him Henry Mercer but he's also used Greg Indulta. Both of which do not appear to match his description."

"Well, if he's in this country and he arrived by plane, he's got to have a passport. And with that passport he's got to have fingerprints."

"Nigel you are a genius," Jordan said, rushing to the keyboard and brining up a screen listing international travelers from Canada to the United States and matched the prints Bug had uncovered to one Archie Theodore Dalton

"56 years old, shocking blue eyes, scarred visage from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada; I don't know, but it looks like we've found our man…"


	20. XX

**A/N:**_ WARNING! Adult content. Thank you for all your reviews so far, I really do appreciate them! please review!_

**XX**

It seemed Emma had found hers as well.

In the living room, she, gently, removed her scarf while he, anxiously, removed his tie.

In the hall, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt, which was not as crisp as it had been when they left, while he reached around her and unzipped her dress, feeling her freckled shoulders as it slipped off and rested on the floor.

In the bedroom, staring seductively into his eyes she unbuttoned his pants and removed them while his shirt slipped off. With surprisingly few problems, he blushed as he unclasped her black bra.

They kissed, slowly at first but with increasing passion. He laid her on the bed. Their tongues moved in rhythm with their bodies.

Emma wondered if she was in love, but Woody knew. His body pulsated with it and when they had climaxed, he held her in his arms. He only wondered how he could have fallen so fast, until he looked at her and set his mind at ease.

"That was a great cruise," Emma whispered.

Woody had to agree.


	21. XXI

**XXI**

"Answer your fucking phone Woody!" Jordan exclaimed in her office, repeatedly trying his cell phone. She even tried his home phone, but no such luck. "He's probably sitting there with his call display, not answering." She glanced at the clock. She had been trying to get a hold of him since she called Seely to the crime scene at nine that morning. Now it was shortly after midnight and still, no answer.

She was tired but she had a feeling that if she could only talk to Woody, they would be able to nail Archie Dalton to the wall that night.

There was only one alternative, go to his apartment. Her mind told her that to do so was imperative but her heart urged her not to seem so desperate.

Her cell phone rang. Was it Woody? Her heart skipped a beat, "Cavanaugh."

"Jordan, I'm glad I got a hold of you, I was afraid you'd be sleeping or something," it was Seely.

"What me, sleep? Are you serious? I've been in the office all night!"

"There's been a break in the case. The APB we put out on Dalton with his passport photo has paid off. We had a sighting of him near North Bennet. I'm going over there to—"

"North Bennet?" Jordan gasped, "Woody lives in that area!" She hung up without listening to whatever else he had to say. She assumed that Seely was on his way to investigate. She flung her jacket off the sofa and let her coat tails fly as she ran down the hall toward the elevator.


	22. XXII

**XXII**

Emma supposed it was not long after she had fallen asleep when she heard a click. Groggily, she stirred and rolled over, but felt Woody sit upright beside her. He felt around for his gun by the bed but before he could take aim at his potential enemy, he was upon him and with a blunt object struck his head. Emma heard the dull thump and something fell upon her body. She bolted up, covering herself with the bed sheet, and fumbled for Woody's hand, which held the gun.

"Don't move," she said forcefully, her voice trembling slightly.

She could feel Woody's head upon her lap, she wondered if he lay dead but was too afraid to take her hands off the gun and her eyes off Henry Mercer to check for fear of Henry taking the moment as an opportunity to strike her as well.

"Oh my dear," he croaked, his scarred face coming into the light through the window. "You don't want to shoot me."

"I will if I have to Henry, or Greg or whoever you are!"

Her heart beat madly inside her chest. She told herself to calm down by taking, slow, deep breaths. She was thinking clearer as he took a small step toward her, his weapon, which looked to be a two-by-four piece of wood, raised in the air.

"I told you not to move, you bastard!" Emma screamed. She was so angry she could have shot him right there.

"I won't hurt you Emma, you're too beautiful. That is why I watch you. That is why I have come to get you. I could never hurt you, my dear."

"What were those pills all about, if you didn't want to hurt me," she exclaimed, shifting her body so that she could reach the phone.

He smiled sincerely, "They were never meant to hurt you, Emma. They were to make you understand. You need to understand how much I need you."

"You almost got me cut up on an autopsy table! Alive!"

"I could never hurt you Emma." She took his words to mean that he would never personally cause her harm, but he would do what he had to in order to protect himself and if getting her killed was the only way, then so be it.

At that moment, the phone rang beside the bed. Emma jumped but did not take her eyes off her fanatic pursuer.

"I'm answering the phone Henry,"

"If you answer it, I'll kill him."

"If you kill him, I'll kill you," she promised in return.

RING. Archie contemplated the situation for a moment. He could not reach the detective in order to kill him, though he wanted to so badly. The cop had touched Emma in ways that, from his window perch, he could only watch.

RING. Emma had a gun and could shoot him no matter what happened. She could not possibly aim and pick up the phone at the same time. He could make his move then. However, in that order, the person on the phone would know what is going on and send more police before he could make his escape.

RING. If she did not answer the phone, the person on the other side could become suspicious and send the police anyway.

RING.

"Answer the Goddamned thing!" He commanded as if he were in complete control of the situation, "but if you say anything a bad girl would say I'll hit you in the head too."

"Hello?"

"Emma?"

"Oh, h-hey Jordan," her voice shook. She cradled the phone on her shoulder still holding the gun with two hands. This made it difficult to aim, but she hoped that if he made any move, aiming the gun for the center of his body would hit something debilitating.

"Where's Woody?"

"He's sleeping."

"Wake him up, this is important," Jordan said.

"I can't, he looks too… Peaceful," it hurt her that she needed to make up stories when his condition was so bad but she feared for both of their lives. She hoped that Jordan asked the right questions.

"Peaceful?" She was infuriated, "Don't be an idiot; this is about your little stalker Emma!"

"Oh, _he's_ here, don't worry, he's just sleeping,"

"What?"

"I said, he's _sleeping_," Emma hinted forcefully. She hoped it did not sound too much like an insinuation.

Jordan was trying to make sense out of her words. "Calm down Jordan, if you're lucky, you can see him tomorrow at the office."

At first, Emma made no sense but as her words tossed uselessly in Jordan's mind she saw the light, "Is he hurt?" She asked calmly. Silently she cursed the traffic and the red lights she seemed to be hitting. Every moment was of the essence. She wondered where Matt and his group were. "Is Dalton there? I mean Mercer, is he there?"

"Jordan, calm down," Emma said, she sounded impatient and slightly vindictive, "He's here."

"Well then, he'd better answer the door when I get there because I'm going to kick his ass!" she exclaimed, hanging up the phone while applying a little more pressure to the gas pedal. She was almost there.

Jordan understood; Emma had gotten through to her. She dropped the phone onto the bed. Her heart gave a leap when Woody stirred slightly in her lap. Henry made his move. While she was shortly distracted, he attacked her with the slab of wood. His scars conformed to wrinkles, creating new creases on his face. He let out a yell while Emma screamed, instinctively pulling the trigger on the gun.


	23. XXIII

**XXIII**

"Boom and he fell, right in front of my face," said Emma, shaken from the night's events. After all she had been through in the past week, shooting a gun is what had frightened her the most.

Woody, his head bandaged, sat beside her on the couch, he rubbed her back placidly. He had been knocked unconscious by the blow but his concussion. He now had to stay awake for the next twenty-four hours, so as not to fall victim to a coma.

Jordan stood in a corner; her arms folded wishing she had never come. She looked at the clothes littered on the floor. Tossed in the heat of passion; she felt ill.

Woody's comrades milled about, lifting fingerprints from every surface, finding his entrance point, the bedroom window, taking pictures, samples of his blood, gathering evidence for an open and shut case. Archie Dalton would be charged with double homicide, and attempted murder on two counts, kidnapping and threatening death to a police detective, among other indelible offences. Once he got out of the hospital, he was going to be locked away for a long time.

The bullet had not killed him, though perhaps he wished it had. Emma may have been aiming for the center of his body but her weak, shaking hand was not accustomed to shooting a gun. When she had pulled the trigger her arms shot back into her body and the bullet's path was slightly higher, shattering his clavicle and piercing his trapezius muscle; at least that is what Emma overheard on of the Emergency Medical Officer say. Woody had refused any other treatment though he too was shaken as he had been after being shot; he never thought he would be attacked in his own home. Considering the criminal they had been hunting had been watching him and Emma, from the third story window, just the thought made his stomach churn. How he had gotten up there, and to Emma's hotel room, is what the police were trying to figure out.

The hours ticked by Emma dwelled on what had happened moments after shooting the gun. She felt that those images would be scratched into her mind forever.

He stumbled back and hit the wall, his weapon falling to his side. He screamed in agony. Cursing her name, swearing revenge, he held his pained shoulder, apparently unable to move from his sitting position. Blood seeped from his wound.

Emma felt she would be sick; she gagged her bile down. With shaking hands, scented with gunpowder, she laid the gun on the bed. Woody stirred on her lap; her fingers combed his hair gently. She investigated the lump on his forehead trickling with blood. He looked up at her with squinted eyes and smiled weakly.

At that moment, there was a crash in the living room, "Woody?" A female screamed. She burst into the bedroom; Emma could not tell whether Jordan was more disturbed by Archie Dalton's broken body in the corner or a half-naked Emma crying over Woody.

"Hoyt, chief wants to talk to you," Matt said, from the bedroom threshold. The chief was on his cell phone. Woody excused himself, leaving Emma and Jordan in the same room.

They sat in silence for a while before Jordan said, "That was some smooth talking you did back there."

"Thanks," she answered simply.

An awkward silence followed. They both felt like the 'other girl' who lusts after the same man, constantly unsure of which one is on his mind.

"Listen, Jordan," Emma finally said; if there was one thing she had learned from Woody this week, it was the courage to say what was on her mind, "what Woody and I have, it's nothing. I'm going home and I'll probably never come back. So if you're thinking—"

"Wow, are you ever immature," Jordan said before Emma had a chance to finish. Emma did not say anything. She, instead, let Jordan continue, "You're just going to leave him like that. That entire 'starting a new life' thing, was that all bull?"

"Never mind, I can see that he doesn't really deserve you anyway."

"But he deserves you?" Jordan mumbled under her breath. She approached Emma and with a look of utter disgust said, "Remember to tell me the next time you're in Boston so that I can stay away from you, and the men you touch."

Emma looked away, unbelieving that the woman who had saved her life could be so hostile toward her. She supposed that she deserved it though. What she felt for Woody was not the same as what he felt for her, she knew it. It would break his heart, but she would never speak to him again.


	24. XXIV

**XXIV**

Although Emma insisted that she take a cab to Logan Airport by herself, Woody would not hear a word of it. He had promised her protection the entire time she was in Boston, up until she stepped onto the plane he would be watching over her. She admired his stubbornness.

After checking in and ridding herself of her luggage she turned to him, "I'm no good at good-byes you know."

He answered, "Then don't go."

"Woody, you know I have to go home. I have to tell my friends and family about what happened. They're probably worried sick!"

Woody looked down at her and said, "You could make Boston your home. And then you'll never have to leave," He smiled sincerely, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," she replied.

There was no mention as to whether she would take the Boston job, or whether she would ever return. They let their futures hang in the stillness between them. They embraced and he kissed her. He fondled her fingers until she let them slip away.

As Woody watched her casually walk away, he wished that she would turn and give him a signal of sorts that she would be back. However, he never received the flash of smile or the wave he had hoped for and she disappeared amongst the other travelers, out of sight, but not out of mind; because it was then that Woody knew he had let another woman break his heart. He would have to endure the pain of loneliness again. His bed would be empty until someone came who could see him through.

"Another job well done," He sighed to himself.

_End. _

_OK, I thought I would reserve this part to say sorry for the spelling mistakes and the car wrecking plot holes. I know that they would probably be able to ID the Jane Doe's through like dental records or something, let's just say they never went to the dentist and they were invisible to the human race so as to focus on what's really important! _

_I'd like to thank my number one commenter anacharlie! Your comments kept me posting! And to Matthew, who read silently until now, comment damn you! __Thank you for all you others who read, it means a lot if you would please leave some comments and critisism!_

_As well, I was thinking of a WJ sequal, a one-shot or an Emma reappearance (oooooo aaaahhhh) tell me what you think!_

_Jen_


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